My fantasies
by Wild-hearts-cannot-be-broken
Summary: I would like to say to you all the things I mean to say and all the things you deserve to hear, and it troubles me how these two aren't always the same. Destiel fic


I would like to say to you all the things I mean to say and all the things you deserve to hear, and it troubles me how these two aren't always the same.

I would like to speak to you completely from my heart, without having to bother with people and angels and anything. Like if we were alone. But we are never alone.

I would like if you could peek inside my head for a while. Just for you to see what I'm desperately trying to say.

But my mind is not a safe place to be.

Once I saw you when you were sleeping. I meant to wake you, but you role over your body and faced me, your eyes still closed, and I distinctly remember my disapproval, as if you were going against my will by keeping your eyes closed, by preventing me from seeing them. I adore your eyes. I crave them. I crave you. As if I have some power over you, or even if I'm willing to use it. As if you could be tamed. No. I learned long time ago you can't.

You had your eyes closed, but I though you were awake. Some people dislike being awake, they enjoy being in bed pretending they are asleep, procrastinating, so I though you were pretending to sleep and I wonder what were you dreaming about. Angels don't dream, but if we did, I'm unequivocally sure I'd be dreaming about you.

I realised you were still sleeping, I couldn't let myself wake you from that figuratively paradise land, that sounds so much better than literal heaven, and went away, once again. I could never tell you what I was thinking then. I fear your sadly, so probably disapproved reaction.

I'm frequently ashamed of my thoughts, which is something I oddly enjoy feeling. Not during that period of self pity and exaggerated consciousness of course, but later, when I think it though and realise it makes me more human. The kind of thoughts people are ashamed are also the best, and I wouldn't mind to share mind with you.

Except you'd be disgusted.

These kind of thoughts are not appropriated for a celestial being.

Oh, I know you would. I remember you and Sammy, coming from a hunt and when I saw you, your clothes ripped of, your face covered in blood. Your blood. I experienced worry and the most profound sadness. Its like my heart falling from my chest to the stomach, and the unexpected gain weight in the lower part of my body made my legs almost fall with the force of gravity working against them. Sam was screaming for my help, unnecessarily because I could hear him even if he was whispering and I already knew you needed my help. I always know. But I cannot always help.

I told you to take out of jacked and your shirt. You gave me a glimpse of terror like I was asking something completely outrageous but for once you did as I said. I exanimate your wounds while some sort of shiver passed all the way of my body, staying after in the stomach. I knew that this kind of reaction has something to do with what my eyes were visioning but not knowing a better way to explain it, I look back at your eyes – here, your eyes again. How I love them. – and I turn away, because the way you looked me seemed like you could see though my soul, even though I don't have one.

I say: Kneel.

You say: What? In a completely astonished, weird way, the same reaction you'd probably have if you knew I observe you sleeping. I know you find it creepy, though people always seem to be tragically comforted with the idea of a guardian angel. I like to hear what you say when you aren't awake to prevent it. Sometimes, you speak my name. That made me happier than it should, and I should not be telling you all this.

I could imagine what you were thinking in that moment, of course, mainly because it crossed my mind as well.

I say: You're height is significantly different than mine; I cannot reach the injured parts of your body to heal.

You looked reluctant, but kneeled anyway. Probably because you know your injuries were severe, and you were about to pass out, so you hold on to my leg to prevent you form falling. Your touch made me feel something. Heat. I liked that heat. But you didn't, so you quickly took of your hand and find help in an unanimated object. Yes, I know you were there! Let me finish or go away.

Obviously much, you stayed.

That night, though, Sam left the room looking for something he needed, and I'm vaguely sure he mentioned it out loud before going. I wasn't paying it much attention. I was looking at you. But thank god he did. Thank god your main wound was on the back of your neck, so you didn't have to face me while I looked at you from above, with some other sensation penetrating hard into my body. I didn't saw your face, and I didn't saw your eyes, and in a way, I didn't saw you. But I saw the way your muscles moved every time you changed position, and how your shoulders were copying the rhythm of your fast breath, and how tired you were, and your pain, and how willing you were of hiding both. I did not understood why. Maybe it was because of me. Maybe you try to hide your weakness because you don't want me to use them against you. But you forgot – or maybe you didn't know at all – I always have known your weaknesses, and I would never use them to hurt you. I would never hurt you. Period.

I place my hand in the back of your head and combed your hair. It was messy and dirty. I liked that. I think I heard you moan. Your pain must have been increasing, or that's what I thought, and there was I with my fantasies. I image you, in the same position but facing me and I asking myself what you would do, and for a second there I allow myself to imagine it. My hands in your hair and your head moving repeatedly back and front, the touch of your lips and tongue and I'd spell your name as a murmured ritual. I would never ask you to, but I'd like if you swallow. Then again, maybe not, because it tastes bad and I might want to kiss you after. If you wanted to. Possibly for humans it doesn't taste that bad, considering all the types of food you eat.

Maybe I could ask you to dine with me. Without Sam. And not in the motel room. We could come to the motel room later. If you wanted to. But I know people need to be fed regularly, so we could enjoy a carefully prepared meal with each other's company. I believe it's called a date. What a silly name.

It wouldn't be weird. I have offered you food before, but I understand the difference between those two singular cases, and how one of them, precisely the one I cherish the most, will not be likely to happen.

Of course that I accept your probable denial. It's okay. I know there are several other activities human beings enjoy doing with a companion. Not that I am implying that I am your companion, of course, but I also know, and I think you know it too, I wouldn't mind it. I wouldn't mind it at all.

I hear that people enjoy sitting in a dark, usually crowded room, with a machine that illuminates the wall in front of us while that light changes so it can tell us a story. We could go see a story.

We could go to the sea. Of course I already seen it, but I never actually touch it. They say is good. They say is perfect. It's salty, isn't it, and you often use salt to fight angry spirits or demons. Uh. I don't know why I said that. Some times the truest things make the less sense.

I'm thinking about the two of us in the beach. I'm not going to ask if you let me have these fantasies, but I could ask your opinion whether or not you want to hear them. I won't ask. We are on the beach, alone, and naked. We'd lie on the sand. Your legs would be crossed at the height of my wais and I would kiss your lips avidly, and my mouth would follow the line of your jaw to your neck and bite it. My hands would touch the tough muscles of your arms and back, ad inner your thighs, as I'd kiss the scars you have on your body and you rush your breath, arching your back with the pleasure. I'd fill your abs with kissed, pass my tongue to your belly buttons, to the little hair line you have under it, to the hip bones. You'd taste like mull and iron and sweet. and It would be slow, and you be dying for me to reach the spot. Maybe you'd scream my name. Maybe just undefined groans of pleasure.

After you'd fall asleep, with your head gently lying on my chest, my hand in your hair like I so often dreamt about. I would be more human than I ever was, and maybe the I'd try to sleep like you and succeed.

Sleep. The word got my attention. It's getting late, you should go sleep. People need sleep. People need to do so.

Of course you could also ask me to stay. I would stay if you want me to. Of course you won't do it. Even if you knew I was there, I'm not so sure you would. Ask me to stay.

My eyes glance down to my feet as I remember. You don't know I'm here. This speech is only thought.


End file.
